


In Loving Memory

by ImhereImQuire



Category: True Blood
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, season five spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 16:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImhereImQuire/pseuds/ImhereImQuire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In accordance with his will a funeral is held for Steve. He wasn't invited.</p><p>Written before the vamp camp plot aired, post Russell's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Loving Memory

His funeral had been and gone and he’d given himself the bleeds trying to stay awake for it even if he couldn’t be there in person; leaving him feeling drained and tired when dusk fell.

Sarah had held it during the day, in accordance with his will; exactly, he presumed, as he had written the request, burying his wedding suit in lieu of a body, at a memorial service he’d chosen the hymns for himself, should the worst happen and the vamps stolen his body for satan.

 _Is Steve Newlin dead?_  He wondered to himself as he made his way to the graveside he’d spent so many evenings grieving and praying over, and sure enough the turf was cut, the earth fresh turned, another name added to the marble.

He wanted to say it wasn’t so, but he didn’t feel alive, not quite, certainly not when he traced the name beneath the rest of his family; his mom and his dad's, and little Bethany's too. He felt too cold, too empty, as though they’d buried his heart along with his clothes when they’d all said their goodbyes. 

_Steven Theodore Newlin, 1978 - 2009. Devoted servant of the light and husband._

Not even beloved husband, he noted bitterly. Not even 'in loving memory'. Even death wasn't able to erase the problems in his marriage in the end, or so it seemed. 

He felt like a ghost. And suddenly, more than anything, more than his old life, more than his wife, more than his buddies, church or even his family he wanted Russell. Russell would tell him that none of that mattered, that no one even knew what life was until it was ending, swallowed down their throat in fiery crimson streams. Russell would tell him that it was all okay. 

And in that instant he knew that someway, somehow, he needed to get him back. And one of those twinkly, dippy-hippy fairy sluts were going to make it happen, or so help him he would eat his way through the whole lot of them, one-by-one.


End file.
